


Chrysalis

by Weltschmerzer



Series: Kinktober 2020 [7]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Age Difference, First Time, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weltschmerzer/pseuds/Weltschmerzer
Summary: Thief King Bakura visits a brothel in a backwater town.
Relationships: Bakura Ryou/Thief King Bakura
Series: Kinktober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927633
Kudos: 29





	Chrysalis

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Kinktober Day 15: Prostitution. It ended up being fluffier and more emotional than I thought! He doesn't say it, but TKB is in his early to mid twenties in this piece, so there's a bit of an age gap. But if you've read any of my fics so far, that shouldn't be a surprise.

Bakura took a swig of his beer, and set the jar down on the table, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. 

Everyone in the brothel was staring at him—he could hear their curious murmurs and feel their eyes on his back. He wasn’t surprised; it wasn’t often that peasants saw someone adorned in such fineries, and though he was wearing a head covering, Bakura knew his scar and the loose strands of white hair escaping his hood betrayed him. They knew exactly who he was.

He didn’t care that people were staring. Rather, he liked it. There was a power that came with being infamous—a quiet respect his presence commanded—that Bakura reveled in. Perhaps also as a matter of convenience, he enjoyed the nervous desire to please he instilled in those around him. It always made people move a little bit faster.

“King of Thieves,” a demure voice from behind him addressed him directly. “We’re honored by your presence in our establishment. If there’s anything you need—anything at all—we will provide for you as best we can.”

Bakura grunted, and turned to look at the speaker. She was a woman—a short, squat woman, with long hair and a round face. By the looks of her, she wasn't a whore; more likely, she was the wife of the man he'd spoken to earlier. “Do you have what I asked for?” 

The woman hesitated. “Yes,” she said, at last. “If you’ll just come this way.”

Bakura finished his beer and slid the jar across the table before rising to his feet. Ignoring the scraping of chairs and whispers that followed him, he stalked after the proprietor and through the curtain that led into the back room. 

His face screwed up the second he stepped inside; it stank like scented oils and overly sweet honey. He supposed that was better than the alternative. It wasn’t as if this was a particularly high-class service, at least not around here. The Pharaoh had whores, but they lived in the Palace, not in some filthy hovel out on the streets off the market.

“Just through here,” the woman said, interrupting his silent observation. She was wary of him; her fingers knotted together in front of her stomach in an instinctive nervous gesture. “This was the closest we had to your request, but if you’d like an exchange, there are plenty of women to choose from . . .”

Bakura waved her off. “Leave me,” he said gruffly, and strode into the cordoned off room, the thin fabric that served as a doorway parting under his hands. 

The room was hardly decorated, even though it was reserved for the highest-paying customers. With only a faint torch, a few jars of nice-smelling oils, and a meager carpet littered with cushions, it seemed more hobbled together than anything else. 

Rolling his eyes, Bakura looked toward the cushions on the ground near the southernmost wall where his ‘request’ was sitting, facing away from him. Upon first inspection, he was more than satisfied. The girl was thin and long-legged, she had elegant shoulders and small, delicate-looking hands, and—as he had requested—white hair, which fell midway down her back. She was clad in only a long tunic, cinched at the waist with some kind of cord, but that didn’t matter—she’d soon be naked anyways.

“Whore,” Bakura addressed her. “Turn around.”

The girl started in surprise, and then looked over her shoulder to gaze upon him. She was even more lovely from the front—Bakura wanted to drag his thumb over her upturned nose and pink lips, to capture the green of her eyes in jewels. There was a gentleness to her beauty, an innocence about it. He wondered whether she was a virgin.

“My lord,” she breathed out, stumbling to her feet once Bakura had drunk his fill of her. “I’m terribly sorry, I—I wasn’t told when you’d be coming, and so . . .I became distracted.” She bowed her head, her hair slipping out from where it was tucked behind her ear. “Forgive me.”

Bakura grinned, and then—unable to help himself—laughed, letting his shoulders shake with it. The girl was so endearing—her awkward manner and rushed speech, those wide, inquisitive eyes. “It’s of no importance,” he said at last, taking a step towards her. “Sit.”

The girl’s face went a little flushed, clearly embarrassed, but she nodded, sitting back on a cushion. In the fire’s glow, Bakura could see how young she was—she couldn’t be much older than fifteen. He was surprised that someone so beautiful hadn’t yet found a husband; she was mature enough to be married, and certainly could attract a moderately wealthy man with her natural gifts.

“You’re young,” Bakura commented aloud, lowering himself to take a seat opposite her. “Yes?”

The girl struggled with the question for a moment, as if trying to gauge whether that was to his liking or to her detriment. “Not overly,” she finally answered. 

Bakura laughed again. “It’s not a bad thing,” he said. “I was simply surprised that someone such as yourself would be here, of all places. Surely you could have been married by now.”

One hand covering her mouth, the girl let out a giggle. “My lord,” she said, “I don’t think there’s a single person in Egypt who would have me.”

Brows raised, Bakura bore forward, caging her in with his arms. “I doubt that,” he murmured, his nose mere centimeters away from hers. “And false modesty becomes no one.”

The girl looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. “I know I am beautiful,” she said, wistfully. “Many times I have been told so. But, as I had hoped you would be informed, I am not fit for marriage.” With one hand, she pulled down her tunic, revealing the completely flat chest that lay beneath. 

Bakura’s throat tightened. 

The boy smiled at him, though the gesture was sad. “I am honored by your compliments, my lord,” he said, his lids slipping shut. “And your attentions have made me happy. But I suspect one of the others would be more to your liking.”

Wordlessly, Bakura—who had been watching him in silence as he spoke—leaned towards him and pulled him into a kiss. His hand grasped the boy’s jaw, fingers brushing across his arc of his cheekbone before he drew away. 

“You’re lucky,” he said, when the boy—red-faced and shocked—said nothing in return. “I don’t care about stuff like that.” Then, without giving him time to react, Bakura asked, “What’s your name?”

The boy still seemed rather startled, but he answered quickly, “Ryou. Ah—I mean to say, my lord, that my name is— _mmph_!”

Bakura cut him off with another kiss, this one hot and open-mouthed. He had to have Ryou; he craved the sight of the young boy beneath him, wanted to see that fair hair strewn out on the ground as he cried out for more. It took a moment, but then Ryou’s lips parted against his in return, shy and hesitant but eager to please all the same. 

The boy was a virgin—that much was obvious from his clumsy, unpracticed movements. Bakura couldn’t help but wonder how he’d even ended up in this place to begin with, but the question wasn’t particularly important, especially not now. 

Pulling away, Bakura sat back on the cushion. “Come,” he drawled, and gestured to his lap. “I want you closer . . .”

His gaze hazy, Ryou nodded, and climbed into Bakura’s space. His bare legs straddled his thighs and the boy hesitated for a moment before settling down completely, letting his weight rest on the Bakura. Ryou really was one of the loveliest creatures he had ever laid eyes on—even the Pharaoh’s noble wives couldn’t compare.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bakura said, his hands settling at Ryou’s waist. “How has no one ever touched you before?”

Ryou’s tongue swept over the swell of his lower lip. “I’ve done all I can to avoid it until now, my lord,” he admitted. “But I—I _want_ you to touch me.”

Tugging the boy in as close as he could manage, Bakura kissed him again, licking into his mouth when those skinny arms came to wrap around his shoulders. Ryou was so warm, and holding his limber body close to his chest felt amazing, especially after months of nothing. Though he didn’t want to scare the boy off, Bakura could already feel his cock hardening as Ryou sighed into their kisses. He’d never been so attracted to someone in his life.

“My lord,” Ryou murmured, as if sensing his thoughts. Pulling away, he slipped his tunic down so that it pooled around his waist. Then, he reached out to grasp one of Bakura’s hands, and brought it to rest on the bare skin of his chest. His heart raced beneath his palm. “Please. Don’t hold yourself back.”

Bakura nearly groaned aloud. “You’re going to kill me before we've even started,” he said, his calloused fingers rolling one of Ryou’s pretty, pink nipples around, flicking it when he was done. It hardened under his ministrations, looking a little swollen—at that, he leaned down to take it into his mouth, suckling on it lightly.

“ _Ah_ ,” Ryou whimpered, squirming in his lap. 

Grinning, Bakura switched sides, first irritating the perky nub and then cooling it with his mouth. The boy seemed to like that—his small cock was hard and leaking, leaving a damp spot on the fabric of his thin tunic.

“My lord,” Ryou said, his voice trembling, “it’s too much, it feels . . .”

“Call me Thief King,” Bakura murmured, pulling off. He grabbed Ryou’s wrist, and laid the boy’s palm on the growing bulge in his shendyt. “Touch me.”

Ryou swallowed, and then began to rub at Bakura’s cock through the fabric. His desire to impress was evident—each stroke was deliberate, designed to make Bakura feel good. It was working, too; even like this, the boy’s hands were amazing.

“Thief King,” he began, his head tipped to the side. “Is it to your liking?”

Bakura nodded, his throat dry. Seemingly on instinct, Ryou beamed at him. Then, his hands slipped under his waistband to grasp his length, and he started to jerk him off directly. It had been far too long—those soft, gentle fingers felt like heaven on Bakura’s aching shaft. 

If this kept up, it would be over before he even managed to get inside.

“Ryou,” he finally croaked, after one particularly good stroke brought him far too close to the edge. “Go—go get the oils.”

Ryou’s eyes widened, his cheeks going red, before he lifted himself off of Bakura’s lap to grab one of the bottles sitting on the floor. Dutifully, he brought it back and set it beside where Bakura was sitting, but instead of settling down into his previous spot, he lay back on one of the pillows a foot or so in front of the Thief King. 

Then, saying nothing, he opened his legs wide, revealing his dripping cock and perfect, untouched hole. “I’m ready, Thief King,” he said, two fingers reaching down to spread his entrance. “If you’ll have me.”

Bakura would have laughed if he weren’t so intensely aroused by the sight. As if any man could turn down such an appealing offering. He would have to be insane to reuse. “Yes, fuck,” he found himself saying, his voice hoarse. “Gods—you’re so . . .”

Slathering his fingers in the oil, he surged forward, rubbing at the tight ring of muscle. When it eased up under his ministrations, Bakura slid one finger inside, his cock throbbing and heavy between his thighs at how much it clenched down on that alone. Content with his progress, he added another, and then another, and fucked them in and out of Ryou’s ass slowly.

Ryou’s face was screwed up in pleasure, his cock dribbling precum on his tunic. “Only one more,” he said. “I—I need to take you now, Thief King, _please.”_

Bakura’s eyes squeezed shut, a jolt of arousal thrumming in his chest. “I’m gonna fuck you,” he said as he coated his cock in the oil, adding the final finger. “And then you’ll be mine. You want that?”

Ryou breathed out—adoring, beyond gone—“ _Yes._ ”

Withdrawing his fingers, Bakura lined his cock up with Ryou’s twitching entrance and sank inside, bearing down until he was buried balls deep in that tight, hot heat. The boy’s face twisted in pain; Bakura leaned down to kiss him, remaining as still as he could. It was a difficult effort.

“Thief King,” Ryou moaned when he pulled away for air, reaching out to wind his arms around his neck. “Kiss me more—move inside me.”

Bakura’s head spun as he nodded, crushing his lips to Ryou’s as he started to thrust into him. He was so _tight_ —Bakura had never slept with a virgin before, nor had he ever lain with anyone so young. 

The combination, along with that mouth moving tentatively against his own, was enough to make it incredible; the sight of Ryou’s little cock leaking against his stomach, of those limbs clinging desperately to him, propelled it to nothing like he’d experienced in this lifetime. 

“ _Mm_ ,” the boy moaned. His hole tightened around him with each pump of his hips, his cock dripping onto his belly.

It was going to be over quickly, Bakura could already tell. He was already far too close. Moving down to mouth at Ryou’s neck, Bakura snuck one hand between their bodies, his fist closing loosely around the boy’s little cock. It was only a few strokes before Ryou, long since overwhelmed and exhausted, began to clench around him.

“Thief King,” he whined, his eyes slipping shut, “I’m—I— _ah…_ ”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Bakura murmured against his throat. “Me, too. Just let go.”

Ryou let out a high, keening moan, and his cock gave one final jerk before he was coming all over Bakura’s fingers, his sticky release oozing onto his palm. He went boneless beneath Bakura, but his hole was still tight, still sucking him in. 

“Please, finish,” he murmured after a few moments, still panting, peeling one eye open to look at the Thief King. “I want it inside.”

The sight of Ryou so fucked out and content had already made Bakura’s jaw clench, but the young boy's earnest plea pushed him over the edge. Fucking desperately into that twitching hole, he chased his own release until he was coming, his cock still sank deep inside Ryou. His entrance drank up his cum greedily, squeezing around his shaft and milking him for all he was worth. 

“Fuck,” he huffed out when he was finally done, his forehead coming to rest against Ryou’s. “Some virgin . . .”

Pulling out gently, Bakura rolled onto his back beside Ryou. They laid there together, their quiet, mingled breathing the only sound filling the room. 

Then, after a few minutes of this comfortable silence, Ryou sighed. "You’re leaving after this, aren’t you?” he said. “Am I ever going to see you again?”

Bakura didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled the boy into his chest, burying his nose in his hair. “Sleep,” he said. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Ryou said nothing, but Bakura could feel his smile against his skin. In the quietude of the back room of the brothel, Bakura—for the first time in a long time—allowed himself to smile back.


End file.
